Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 29346 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29346 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Most of the time, though, we’re low key and nice. I’m a schoolteacher. Caro sells dresses. Don’t anger us, and that’s all you’ll ever see.
I stop at the entrance of Belle Époque and wait for the iron gates to swing open. Nothing happens. I gesture for the man in the security booth to come forward, but he ignores me. I tap my fingers on my steering wheel and remind myself that these are paid workers who are just doing what they’re told. Temper moderately under control, I slam out of the car and stalk over to the booth. The security man’s eyes widen at the sight of my approach. He scrambles backward when I throw open the door. “Gate, my friend,” I order.
“Ah, sir, I can’t—”
I grab him by the collar and twist until his face turns purple. “Gate,” I repeat simply.
Choking, he extends a hand, feeling around until his fingers find the activation button. I don’t release him until the gates are swung wide, and since I don’t trust this guy, I drag him out of the booth with me and hold on to his neck while I climb back into my car. I place his hands on the top of the open driver’s side door and make him walk next to the car as I roll through the entrance. I release him when I’m clear of the gates.
“Don’t do that again,” I tell him.
“N-no sir,” he stammers, red-faced and hot.
“Good.” I slam the door shut and speed down the long lane. At the front of the house, I park the car and keep my keys, waving. I don’t trust anyone here. Huntington is at the front door. “You don’t want to go down for Abbott,” I warn him.
“No,” he agrees and opens the door for me.
“Better go and pack Paislee’s things. She won’t be back.”
“What happened at the gate will not be repeated,” Huntington assures me.
“Don’t care. Paislee’s coming with me with or without her things. You make the call.”
The butler sighs but gives in. He directs me to a study off the main wing where I can find Abbott. I don’t bother to knock. Paislee’s father is on the phone, barking out some order. I walk over to the desk and disconnect the call.
“What the hell are you doing, Fréres? Who let you in here?”
“I let myself in. Put down the phone because I’m only going to give you one chance.”
“A chance for what?” he sneers.
“To apologize for whatever shit you’ve done to Paislee—and don’t try to play innocent. I know you’ve been harassing her ever since your mom showed up with your daughter.”
“You don’t know shit, son, and even if you were correct, I’m not listening to some schoolteacher who lives over in Blueberry Hills.” Abbott turns away.
I grab the phone cord and give it a yank. A cloud of dust forms as the socket disconnects from the wall.
“What in the fuck do you think you’re doing?” shouts Abbott. He throws the now worthless receiver on the desk and stomps around to face me.
“I said I wanted to talk.” I point to the sofa. “I suggest you take a seat and get out of my face.”
“Or what?”
“Abbott, I teach high schoolers. Some of them are football players who are bigger, stronger, and meaner than you have ever been in your entire pathetic life. So either sit the hell down or I’ll treat you like you’re the five-year-old asshole you’re acting like.”
The older man turns red. “You don’t tell me what to do, boy.”
I didn’t wake up thinking I’d be manhandling a fifty-year-old man, but love puts you in odd places. Not wanting to break the man’s brittle bones, I slap him—open palm right to the cheek. A fist would’ve laid him out. A slap’s humiliating. His hand flies to his face. “D-did you just slap me?”
I repeat it on the other side. His head flies to the left, and his glasses slide crookedly down his nose. “Yeah. I did. Now sit the fuck down.”
His jaw drops, but half in shock, half in fear, he does what I tell him. I place one hand on the back of the sofa and the other on the arm rest and lean close so he can’t miss what I’m saying.
“I don’t know what you’ve been whispering in my girl’s ear, but I don’t have to be a mind reader to guess that it’s not good so here’s what is happening. I am going to marry Paislee. We’re going to have a big wedding here at Belle Époque. You are going to sit on the bride’s side and beam like it’s the best fucking day of your life. You will then tell all of your friends and the children of your friends that finding your daughter after all these years is a dream come true. When the wedding is over, you will continue to treat Paislee like she is the daughter that you had wanted all of your life. She will never experience another trauma at your hands. In fact, if she so much as frowns near you, it’ll be the last time you enjoy your life.”